


Treat

by mizzmarvel



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzmarvel/pseuds/mizzmarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor Sandbourne hates Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treat

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, a really stupid line popped into my head, and the only character, in all of my fandoms, who might actually say it was Alan Gray. Ergo, this fic. Originally written October 31, 2006.

Stoneybrook High School’s Halloween Haunt – a party that is just slightly less lame than its middle school equivalent, the Halloween Hop, only with less apple bobbing and more surreptitious groping in dark corners – is not exactly the social event of the year, but everyone shows up anyway. Trevor Sandbourne and Alan Gray are no exception, and by mutual agreement they go off in separate directions soon after they walked in the door. 

Alan’s clowning around as usual within seconds, teasing the girls and making them giggle, but Trevor just feels moody, distant. He sticks out like a sore thumb, costumeless here amid a sea of rock stars, cavemen, and sexy kittens, and he can’t manage small talk, so he just goes outside after barely a half hour of mingling, wincing at air that is growing steadily colder. There’s a lunch table nearby, in the courtyard, better suited for warmer times of year, but it’ll do for now; he forgoes the bench and sits down on the table itself, sighing heavily. It’s quieter out here, lonely, and he doesn’t know why he thought this might make him feel any better.

Trevor hates Halloween, and if you ask him why, he’ll tell you that it’s because of the shameless commercialization of a potentially romantic day, just begging for epic poems about ghosts, ghouls, and lost loves from beyond the grave. He’ll say that it’s just the first step on the road to that long stretch of year when the weather gets colder and people’s moods darken, including his own. He’ll even admit that he just resents the fact that his house has gotten toilet-papered every Halloween for the past four years, and his mom _always_ makes him clean up, and that just sucks. But when it comes down to it, that’s not why he left the Haunt early.

“Bevare the vampire!” cries a voice with a horrifically fake Eastern European accent, interrupting his thoughts.

Trevor jumps a little, turns, and Alan is standing there in his cheesy Dracula costume, complete with tuxedo, cape, fake black widow’s peak, costume blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth, and fangs. He flaps his cape, grinning widely, and says, “Blah!” as Trevor watches him dubiously. 

“What are _you_ doing out here?” Trevor asks. “Run out of yellow M &Ms?”

“If you must know, yes,” Alan answers, losing character. He sits down next to Trevor, sweeping his cape out from under him in one fluid motion; it’s clear he’s been practicing with it in front of the mirror, probably for days. “Also, that’s a really good brooding poet costume, but I think you wore it last year. And the year before that.”

“Ha.” Trevor scowls, staring down at his hands, folded neatly on top of his knee and growing slightly numb with cold. There’s a low, rumbling howl of wind in the distance, a fluttering of leaves before he actually feels the spray of icy wind against the bare back of his neck, and he shivers.

“No, seriously,” and Alan frowns as well, as if ‘serious’ is still somewhat of a challenge for him to pull off. “What’s wrong?”

Trevor shrugs, trying to put together just the right words for his response, but before he can say anything, Alan is rolling his eyes.

“Oh, what? Is it me? Because I’ve only been my normal, charming self all night. I mean, I can’t help it if Sheila McGregor wants to be Vampira to my Dracula.”

“She’s practically running around in a bikini,” Trevor can’t help but note ruefully, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

“Yeah.” Alan swings his feet idly for a second. “But Trevor, really – what’s wrong?”

Trevor’s face falls almost immediately. “It’s stupid,” he says.

“I like stupid.”

“I can tell.” He smiles again, just a little, and finally looks up. “It’s just…in there, all those couples. All dressed like Romeo and Juliet, Tarzan and Jane, stupid shit like that. _They_ get to be in the, dancing and making out, and no one thinks twice. But. You and I – ”

“It would be frowned upon,” Alan finishes, sighing.

“Yeah.” It’s almost a relief, that this feeling was understandable, at least. This – thing – relationship – lifestyle – _everything_ – is all so new to him; he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel, whether it could be considered irrational. “And that makes me feel…”

“Blah?” Trevor glances over at him, poker-faced under the thick white make up and gooey fake blood, and wonders if the pun is intentional. “Well…if I’d gone as Little Bo Peep, like I offered, we could’ve danced. But you wouldn’t let me.”

“And you’re surprised?” Trevor asks. He flexes his hands; they prickle painfully. “But, yeah, it’s stupid, I know. We’re – _I’m_ not even ready for something like that yet, but…it still bothers me. So.” He shrugs.

“Well,” Alan says earnestly. “If it’s bothering you, we can go do something else. The party’s kind of lame anyway. Plus, Claudia’s eaten all the candy apples.”

Trevor groans as good-naturedly as he can, considering his mood. Man – and they _both_ used to date her. “No, you were having fun in there. Sorry I ruined it.”

“Really.” Alan puts his hand on Trevor’s, on his knee, and grins, cocking his head toward the street. “Come on, Debbie Downer. Let’s go trick-or-treating.”

“Aren’t we a little a little old for that?” But Trevor can’t fight back the affection in his voice. “And anyway, I don’t have a costume.”

“Not _that_ kind of trick-or-treating.”

“Then what – ?”

Alan’s grin widens as he hops off the bench, flourishing his cape again. “Blah! I vant to suck you off!”

_Oh_ , that’s so, _so_ bad, but Trevor bursts out laughing.

“Well?” Alan places both hands on his hips, clearly waiting for an answer.

“So would that be a trick, or a treat?” Trevor manages to ask, mid-giggle. He hoists himself off the bench and walks over to him, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Oh, ho ho ho! You really need to ask? Very funny!” 

They start crossing the courtyard together, heading toward Alan’s house just up the road, side by side, shoulders bumping. There’s another gust of chilling wind, and Alan sweeps his cape over Trevor’s shoulders, enveloping them both. 

“I told you I like stupid,” Alan says, and Trevor can’t help but realize that he’s starting to feel warmer already.


End file.
